"O King," said John timidly, "they let me in because I said that I came
to cure your son, if may be."

"More sorcery!" howled the King, beside himself with rage. "Take him
away! Slay them all,--the old man, the boy, the animals! I have
waited too long already. Perhaps even now my son is dead!" He rose,
trembling.

But the Hermit's voice rang out now, loud and clear. "O King," he
cried, "enough talk of sorcery and magic. This boy has come to help
your son, who sought to slay him. He has brought the animals whose
lives you covet, to show you how much you may owe to them. Lo, this
carrier pigeon bore my message bidding him to come,--not for my sake.
For I told him nothing of the danger in which I lay. This noble dog
guided him to the village by a path which only he could follow. Now
with these other animals he hopes to amuse the Prince and awaken him to
life. There is no magic in this; only love, O King--the love which is
lacking in your sad and sullen kingdom."

There was a murmur in the crowd, which swayed forward toward John and
the Hermit. For some seconds the King stood speechless, staring at the
Hermit and the group around him. Then, with a wave of his hand, he
bade the guards stand back. He turned to a black-gowned man on his
right who had just entered the hall. "Does my son still live?" he
asked in a choking voice.

The doctor nodded gravely. "He still lives, Sire. But he is very low.
He cannot survive many minutes."